


Bright Eyes

by b_ofdale



Series: Those Colours We Share [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual Characters, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, book your dentist appointment now you're gonna need it, can be read as a stand-alone fic, sequel to Those Colours We Share
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ofdale/pseuds/b_ofdale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tilda bakes cake, Thranduil sings Disney songs, and Bard slow dances with an unusual partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sailingonstardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingonstardust/gifts).



> (as you can see I'm still amazing at coming up with lame titles for my short fics)
> 
> This is a lil' gift fic for the lovely [Emily](http://kenaiskoda.tumblr.com) (btw she's the cutest, not me, don't let her say otherwise)! I'm so thankful and happy to know you, friend <3 
> 
> It's been a while since I promised you a little story, I'm sorry it took so long (so damn long oh my god!)
> 
> It wasn't supposed to be a TCWS sequel in the first place, but I couldn't manage to come up with anything new (actually I tried to make it a Bubbly sequel but it was a Fail) and I missed the story, so... this happened. I tried to include what you like: Disney, cats (they are a default setting in this au so that was a good thing), slow dancing, and some otp things I read you enjoyed (thanks tumblr!) I hope you'll like it! :D ♡
> 
> Thank you to [Iza](http://http://archiveofourown.org/users/Piyo13/) for the editing and support, you're awesome <3
> 
> Beware, this is embarrassingly fluffy (for real I'm so embarrassed, how dare they being so in love and happy). You've been warned. Good luck.

_Bright, pure blue: the colour of the sky through Thranduil’s window._

That was the first thing Bard saw when he woke on that Sunday morning. At once, a smile stretched on his face despite the pain that lingered in his leg; eight years later, and he still hadn't grown tired of opening his eyes to the familiar colours of Thranduil's home, and in them he always found the strength he needed to get through harder days.

The room was full of light already, and gentle rays of morning sunlight fell upon the bed, warming Bard's skin. The white sheets only covered half his body, and knowing very well why, he fondly rolled his eyes. Some things never changed.

The happy chatter of birds could be heard from outside, and repetitive meows told Bard that one of the cats was waiting behind the door.

On the bedside table there was a picture of him; morning hair and Whisk’, their cat, asleep with half his body on Bard’s face. He could almost remember waking up and breathing the fur against his nose. It had been the first time they had shared a bed, on the first day of 1957. Bard had the picture he had taken of Thranduil back at his own house.

The air smelled of pie and cake; Tilda had to be up already, and as she always did, she wished to make her fathers happy before she left to wander in the woods with the family's dog. It was Bilbo who had taught her everything about baking, and it had quickly become a hobby of hers that she shared as much as she could.

Even if it meant making a disaster of the kitchen.

Bard's smile grew wider; there was nothing he could wake up to that would be more perfect. Except, maybe—

Bard extended his arm as he closed his eyes, seeking the comforting warmth of his soulmate, but his hand didn't meet Thranduil's skin; as far as Bard was concerned, Thranduil didn't have soft fur Bard could bury his fingers into.

“Sam'—not on the bed,” Bard muttered, though his voice held little conviction, still drowsy from sleep, and the dog's answer was to lay his heavy head upon Bard's chest instead. “Bad dog.”

He let out a sigh and scratched Samaân between the ears, before extending his arm some more until the tip of his fingers met Thranduil's silken hair.

“Come on Sam',” Bard said, pushing the dog with some force; he eventually moved to lay on Bard's other side, leaving his master the opportunity to edge closer to Thranduil and the warmth of his body.

Soon enough Bard was snuggling against Thranduil's chest and closing his arm around him, then leaving lazy kisses on Thranduil's collarbone. As he did so, Bard felt a hand going from his lower back to his shoulders, which were massaged in slow circles by Thranduil’s thumb. Many of the mornings they spent together were like this; simple, and yet Bard wouldn’t exchange them for anything in the world.

Not a word was spoken as they lay there, close. That is, until Bard went up on an elbow so he could look into Thranduil's eyes; he was met with familiar deep blue on a sleepy, smiling face. Bard leaned in for a kiss—which was returned just as sleepily, though eagerly—before he murmured at the corner of his mouth, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Thranduil answered, then with a frown asked at once, “Do you want me to—”

“It’s alright, I’ll do it,” Bard said, and kissed Thranduil once more, before he could protest.

Then, he lay his head upon Thranduil's chest, and listened to his heartbeat, gaze fixed on the paintings hanging on the wall, representing the fields behind the shelter, covered in colourful flowers under a cloudy, blue sky on a summer day. Bard missed the flowers; he hoped spring wouldn't be too long in coming, and bring with it kinder, warmer days.

If he could, he would spend the rest of his life this way, right here, Bard thought.

_Light green: the colours of the lines of Thranduil's night shirt._

An enthusiastic knock on the door broke their comfortable silence, and a mere second later the door opened on Tilda, already dressed for going out into the cold.

“Hi Da, good morning Ada,” Tilda said cheerfully, smiling at them from where she stood under the threshold. “Cake and pie are on the table, water is boiling for tea, so you'd better get up.”

With a grunt Bard rolled on his side and hid his face in the crook of Thranduil's neck, which rumbled softly with Thranduil's chuckle, just as Tilda's laugh rose. He could almost hear her shake her head and roll her eyes, and he smiled at the thought.

“Come on Samâan, let's go!” she said, and at once the weight behind him disappeared with an enthusiastic bark.

Thranduil's fingers brushed and caressed Bard’s back, lingering on the path of bones and muscles in a soothing, comforting way, until Bard heard the door slam shut. Only then did Thranduil speak at last, and straightened against the wall.

“I'm going to check on the tea,” he said. “You can stay a little longer, if you wish.”

“I'll be right behind you,” Bard replied, and Thranduil kissed his forehead before he stood and left the room.

At once, Whisk’, who had been waiting behind the door for the dog to go out, sprung inside to go sit by the window, where he liked to bathe in the sunlight. He was thinner and lighter, now that he was older. But Whisk' was still with them despite his age, and the whole family cheered whenever he suddenly started running again.

Bard took his time before rising from the bed. First, he sat to massage his stump, though it was never as soothing as when Thranduil did it for him. Thranduil liked to offer his help, and Bard appreciated it, but he believed Thranduil knowing about his pain without Bard having to tell him was sometimes enough, like it was today. Then Bard put his prosthesis on, took his crutch, and rose.

Bard picked up Whisk', who had been watching him with piercing eyes, and at last left the room to join Thranduil downstairs.

In the kitchen Thranduil was humming a tune that Bard knew well; he had learned it for his children after he had taken them to see the film it was from. Thranduil was preparing the tea, and Bard could see from the way he had just licked his fingers that he had just eaten a slice of one of Tilda's baked goods.

“ _And I can fly,_ ” Thranduil murmured, still unaware of Bard's presence by the door. “ _I'll touch every star in the sky._ ”

Bard took a few steps forward, leaning heavily on his crutch. He put Whisk’ on the floor. 

“ _So this is the miracle, that I've been dreaming of—so this is love,_ ” Bard sang on. It was sappy, but the look on Thranduil's face—a strange mix of surprise, fondness and embarrassment—as he turned on his heels to meet his eyes was worth all the sappiness in the world.

“Tilda left the radio on—” Thranduil poorly defended himself, but Bard only smiled.

“It gets stuck in one's head, I know,” Bard said before he picked a slice of cake from the plate on the table, and took a bite. He hummed his contentment, then said, “The kids loved to make me sing it to them—amongst other songs from those films.”

“I understand why they wouldn’t miss the chance to make you sing,” Thranduil replied pensively as he served the tea, and brought it to the table. Bard caught his wrist in a gentle grip, and let his thumb stroke the back of Thranduil's hand.

“Do you want me to?”

Thranduil seemed to think for short moment, before he took a step closer, and brushed their noses together. “Yes,” he said.

“Which song?”

“Continue the one I was singing—I dare say it fits us well.”

At their feet Whisk', Liam, and Iris were clamoring for attention with high-pitched meows. Bard couldn't hold back his grin.

“Alright,” he replied, and put his finger on Thranduil's lips before he could be kissed. “If you dance with me.”

Thranduil's hand travelled up to his cheek, and tucked away a lock of hair. Then, he shook his head.

“I can feel that your leg hurts you today,” Thranduil said. “You should not force it—we can dance another day.”

“Don't be such a spoilsport, I'll hold onto you,” Bard protested, and smiled that reassuring smile of his; there was little Thranduil could deny Bard when he did that, Bard knew so. “Besides, we're talking about slow-dancing, Thran, not tango.”

“You won't ever change, will you?”

“No, indeed, and I know you wouldn't want me to,” Bard answered. He shrugged, then gestured to Whisk', still sitting at their feet. “But fine, maybe our old Whisk’ will be a better partner,” Bard teased, to which Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, would he?”

“I do think so,” Bard said. “Perhaps I should show you?”

“Please, do.”

Bard smirked, finished his slice of cake in two bites, and bent down to pick the old cat from the floor. He started half-humming, half-singing the song, and slow danced with Whisk’ (looking quite content to be getting attention again) as a partner. Thranduil rolled his eyes, but there was nothing but fondness in them.

“Come on now, Princess,” Thranduil said when Bard finished the song. “My turn.”

But Bard pretended to ignore him, though he couldn't hide the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He adjusted his hold on the cat, and kept on humming as he now rocked Whisk' like a baby, his grip on the crutch tight.

Thranduil bowed then, and made an elegant gesture with his hand. “May I?” he asked again, and this time Bard fully faced him. 

“I thought you'd never ask,” Bard said, and took the offered hand after he had put Whisk' on the table. “My King.”

The dance resumed, and the song as well. Bard hummed it still, his head in the crook of Thranduil's neck, eyes closed. He could have fallen asleep there, in the safety of Thranduil's arms, souls and bodies close. It was something Bard realized often; how there was nowhere he'd rather be than here, near the man he had given his love to, and built a life with. He and his children hadn’t been happier since Mira, his wife, had left their world, regardless of the precautions they had to take.

Days like these were precious; it was just them, and the cats, and everything they shared. And when the evening would come, the children would join them, they'd have dinner, and only then Bard would go back home above the shelter. In his bed that felt emptier than it should, he would wait to see Thranduil again in the morning, and wish the weekend would come faster, so that he could spend the night in his soulmate's arms.

_Pink; the colour of the light blush spread on Thranduil’s cheeks._

“May I kiss you?” Bard murmured once he finished the song, meeting the deep blue of Thranduil's eyes; if there was one colour Bard could never stop getting lost in, it was his.

“You need not ask.”

“You're the King, I thought it better not to take the risk,” Bard retorted, before he kissed him.

Thranduil's hands had framed his face, but it wasn't much of a kiss; or it was, but it was too messy for their lips to properly meet. The sight was a rare, and precious one, for Thranduil wasn't only laughing—which was something that, even if Bard had grown used to it, had never lost of its value; he was—

“Are you giggling?” Bard laughed.

“That's the effect you have on me,” Thranduil breathed before he tried to kiss Bard again, making their teeth knock, and Bard laugh even more.

They slow danced still, until Thranduil stopped to reach for their cups of tea, handing Bard his own.

Bard sat on the table. It creaked under his weight. They shared one of those private smiles that were only their own, and didn't let their fingers lose contact as they sipped their teas, still close to one another.

_Soft yellow: the colour of Thranduil’s cup of steaming tea._

“I'm impressed by how easy it is to love you more every day,” Thranduil told him then.

“Good,” Bard said, before put his cup down and picked a slice of the apple pie Tilda had prepared. “I don't know how I'd feel, if you grew tired of me.”

“I could never.”

“Me neither, love.” Bard smiled once again. He didn't say aloud how much Thranduil's words were precious to him, but he knew his eyes said enough. “Me neither.”

“Ew.”

Bard started, and Thranduil with him. They looked away from each other. Legolas stood under the threshold, arms crossed over his chest and mock disgust on his face.

“You're worse than Bilbo and Thorin when they think no one can see them,” he said, but he was smiling.

The slice still in his one hand and Thranduil's hand in the other, Bard raised an eyebrow at the teenager. He brought Thranduil closer and kissed his knuckles, eliciting another 'ugh' from Legolas. “Good morning to you too, Legolas,” Bard said then, and Thranduil laughed quietly. 

Legolas stuck his tongue at them, and Bard's only answer was to bite his slice of pie. He hummed at the sweetness of it. Tilda really was an outstanding baker.

“What are you doing here?” Thranduil asked. Though his words weren't soft, his tone was. “Shouldn't you be with Aragorn and Gimli?”

“I forgot my lunch,” he replied, pointing to the fridge before catching Iris and planting a kiss on her forehead. He rocked her for a moment before he put her back down, quickly petting Liam as he did so. Then Legolas went to the fridge, and retrieved a blue lunchbox.

“Am I ever going to meet them?” Thranduil inquired, keeping a watchful eye on his son though he didn't let go of Bard's hand, nor take a step back. He seemed content with where he stood, and Bard would lie if he said he wasn't, too.

“Someday,” Legolas replied, waving his hand vaguely.

“I did meet them,” Bard said as-matter-of-factly. “They visited the shelter together a while back. Good kids.”

In answer Legolas gestured to Bard, as if there was no more to be said. He went to leave. Thranduil didn't insist, but Bard knew he was burning to do so.

“By the way, Ada?” Legolas said, stopping in his tracks to turn around and send his father a knowing look. “I saw you.”

Thranduil frowned. “Saw what?”

“Uh-oh,” Bard hummed. He had already guessed what Legolas was talking about. Thranduil had to feel it, for he turned back to Bard and stared at him expectantly. Bard shrugged.

“You knew the song as well as Da did,” Legolas said, grinning. “You love them, don't you? Those movies?”

Thranduil looked taken aback for a short moment. It was enough to give him away, making Bard laugh, and Legolas shot him another grin.

“Now you can't say no when the next one comes out,” Legolas beamed, and added, “oh, and by the way, Sigrid said she got a picture of you kissing Samaân’s nose.”

“She _what_?” But Legolas disappeared through the door before Thranduil could ask any further.

Acting fast, Bard caught Thranduil by the wrist so he could not follow his son, and kissed him as he chuckled. Then without warning, Bard stuffed a small bite of cake into Thranduil's mouth, causing him to erupt in laughter at his soulmate's offended expression.

But it broke into a smile, and as it always did when they kissed and laughed and smiled, it felt as if everything was right with the world, and no harm would ever come to them.

_Icy blue: the colour of Thranduil's eyes shining bright as they reflected Bard’s._

**Author's Note:**

> I warned you, so no, I won't pay for your dentist bills. 
> 
> Please, please let me know if you've enjoyed this? It would mean the world! ♡
> 
> [Here](http://evansluke.tumblr.com/post/147185857298/bright-eyes-for-emily-soulmatesau)'s the edit if you want to share it! You can find me on Tumblr over there :)


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